The Guide to Insanity And Love
by Zero-Live
Summary: Here's a handy-dandy little guide to figuring out why you're acting the way you are! There are probably going to be seven sections for this story, each centering around a cute little couple from our favorite anime: Hetalia! Now, as you all know, it's okay to be crazy in love! It's part of life, non? (I accept no responsibility for what may happen if you actually listen to this)
1. Wrath

"Lovino!" Antonio called, pushing open the door of the house. "I know you're in here, Lovi!"

"I'm over here, tomato-bastard," Romano sighed, standing up from his tomato patch.

"Ah, Lovi!" Antonio grinned, practically skipping out to greet his favorite little pasta-lover. "There you are!"

"Where else would I be?" Romano asked slowly, as if talking to a three-year-old.

"I don't know, Lovi," Antonio shrugged. "You seem like you've been avoiding me lately."

"A-avoiding you?" Romano squeaked, blushing. "Wh-what would make you think that, idiota?"

Antonio shrugged, walking into the garden. "I don't know, Lovino. You don't answer the phone, and you're never around anymore." He bent to inhale the heady, earthy scent of the sun-warmed tomatoes.

"Heh," Romano chuckled nervously, turning his back on the ender nation. "I don't know what you're talking about, tomato-bastard."

"Oh, come on, Lovi," Antonio chuckled, observing the back of his little friend. He approached on silent feet, wrapping his arms around the smaller nation.

"D-don't touch me!" Romano exclaimed, ripping himself away. He ran away, dodging Antonio's reaching grasp.

"Lovi?" Antonio asked confusedly, watching the younger man go. "Why…?"

Romano flopped down on his bed, burying his face in the huge, soft pillows. "Am I crazy?" He sighed. Then jumped at the loud 'thump' that came from something hitting one of the feet of his bed.

He glanced down, spying the thin, green book that stared up at him from the floor.

'_Guide to Insanity [- -] (This part was scribbled out.)_

"A crazy guide?" Romano blinked, picking up the book confusedly. He flipped open the cover, and his eyes were assaulted by the dark black print, standing out obnoxiously bright against the pure white page.

_Thinking you're crazy? Having uncontrollable reactions for someone you know? Blushing, stuttering, avoidance? Well, you're not alone. This handy-dandy little guide right here will help you figure things out._

_1) Realization:_

_So. Think you're crazy? Well, that is why we're here to help! Are you stuttering, nervous around someone you know, and you don't know why? The first thing any sane person must admit when they think they're going insane is to admit that they think they are going insane._

Romano sighed, flipping the book closed. "Why the hell am I reading this?" He grumbled, thumping himself on the forehead. "Ow…"

"Lovi, I know you're in here," Antonio toned, knocking on Romano's bedroom door. "Why are you avoiding me? Did I do something wrong?"

Romano pulled open the door, keeping his face carefully neutral. "No, idiota, what would make you think that?"

"You always leave when I try to talk to you," Antonio pouted. "I miss you, Lovi!"

"You're talking to me right now, bastard," Romano scoffed, strangely without much venom to his voice.

"I know," Antonio smiled, hugging Romano tightly. "Te amo, Lovi!"

"Sh-shut up, tomato-bastard!" Romano exclaimed, wriggling out of Antonio's grasp. "Stop touching me!"

"But Lovi-!" Antonio began, only to be cut off when Romano shoved him backwards and slammed and locked the door.

Antonio sighed, slumping morosely out into the kitchen. "Your fratello doesn't like me…" He grumbled sadly to Veneciano.

"Nonsense!" Veneciano scoffed. "Ve, fratello is just awkward right now because he's just realizing…" He cut himself off.

"He's just realizing what?" Antonio blinked at him.

"Ve, nothing!" Veneciano just smiled sweetly, patting Antonio's shoulder comfortingly. "I'm sure he'll tell you himself. Someday."

"I hope so…" Antonio sighed, slumping down against the table.

Veneciano could practically _see_ the dark cloud hovering over Antonio's head.

Romano slid down the door, his head in his hands. "Oh, dios mio…what is wrong with me?" He smacked his head against the door, then winced. "Ow!" He crawled over to his bed, picking up his journal. Not a diary, damn it, but a JOURNAL.

_**What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm acting like a love-struck freaking schoolgirl! This is ridiculous. I'm being a moron. Stupid tomato bastard with his happy smile and oblivious gaze. Damn bastard…**_

Romano scowled, slapping the notebook shut, practically throwing the black pen across the room. "And writing is supposed to help me think," he scoffed.

He pulled open the 'Crazy Guide,' not really because he thought he was crazy, but because he liked the sarcastic, slightly patronizing tone the book had.

_2) Acceptance:_

_Well, you're crazy. Time to buck up and get used to it, buddy._

Romano grinned jauntily, finishing out the chapter of the book. He ran his fingers over the cover, wondering, not for the first time, what had been scribbled out on the cover of the book.

"Ve, fratello, dinner's ready," Veneciano said, knocking gently on Romano's door.

"Okay, coming," Romano said, stuffing the book under his pillow and going out into the dining room. "Is that tomato bastard here?"

"No," Veneciano shook his head. "He went out tonight with Francis and Gilbert."

Romano wrinkled his nose in distaste. He could barely stand Antonio's freaky friends on a good day, so he was glad they were gone.

Francis nudged Antonio's shoulder. "Lover troubles, Toni?"

Antonio shrugged, tilting back his head and draining the last of his drink.

"Probably lack of, actually," Gilbert snickered.

"Shut up, Gil," Antonio grumbled, glaring half-heartedly at his drink.

"Yup," Francis nodded. "Our poor Toni is going through withdrawals."

"I'm not a sex addict," Antonio retorted. "Unlike some other people I could mention…"

Francis laughed, winking at the blonde bartender, who winked right back, blowing him a kiss. "I know who I want tonight…"

"Whore…" Antonio snickered, waving for another drink.

"Did you say something, tomato-for-brains?" Francis asked sweetly.

"You're a whore, Francy-pants," Gilbert laughed uproariously.

"At least I enjoy myself," Francis smirked. "Unlike some people I could mention…" He mocked Antonio's former words.

"Remind me to kill you later, okay?" Antonio laughed, chugging his drink. "Preferably in a painful and humiliating manner, hm?"

"Can do," Francis laughed, clapping Antonio's back. "Now, it's time to have fun, ami!"

Antonio stumbled down the street, Gilbert to his left, both of them stupidly drunk. Francis had left a few hours earlier, along with that Ukrainian bartender, What's-His-Face.

Antonio and Gilbert were singing together, loudly and quite badly, in their native languages. Antonio might have had a little Italian mixed in there as well, but no one cared. Or noticed.

"C'mon Tonio," Gilbert beckoned to his friend. "Yoo can stay the night t'night cause you can barely walk!"

"Look hoooose talkin'," Antonio laughed, pointing a finger somewhere in the general direction of the albino. "Gilly-Bird, I think you're drunk!"

"Shaddup," Gilbert scoffed, turning to bang on the front door of his home. "Weeest! Open the door, fucktard! I wanna go inside cause it's cold out here…"

There was no response from inside.

"C'mon, West!" Gilbert banged harder on the door. "Don't be a twat!"

Antonio added his voice to the din. "Ludwiguh, if you don't open the door Imma barf on your flowerrrs!"

The door opened with a snap, revealing a slightly more than vaguely annoyed Ludwig. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try us," Gilbert laughed, pushing past his brother, stumbling over air. "I would soooo have barfed on your damn flowers if you hadn't opened the door, West."

Ludwig sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, closing the front door behind his two drunk friends. "Vhy do I put up with you again, brudder?"

"Cause I'm so totally awesome, duh," Gilbert laughed, narrowly avoiding running into a chair by tripping over a low coffee table. "Ow, fuck, West, when the hell did that fucking thing get there?"

"It's always been there," Ludwig sighed, turning back to his room. He knew what was going to happen next. "Brudder, remember that your room is the last door on the left."

"Right, right," Gilbert nodded, grabbing Antonio's hand and dragging him back to the last door on the left. "C'mere mah prudish friend."

"I'm not a prude," Antonio giggled, allowing himself to be dragged without complaint.

Germany sweatdropped, going to his own room on the opposite end of the house. He was thankful, so very, _very_ thankful that the walls had been soundproofed by the previous owner.

There were some advantages of living in a former bordello, really. Except the chains in the basement. Those were kinda creepy.

_3)Cause & Effect:_

_'Why is this happening to me?' you're probably asking yourself. 'What did I do to deserve this? What god did I piss off in another life to get this?' Well, suck it up. Who/what did this to you? I have no clue, I'm just a book. That, my friend, is something you're going to have to figure out all on your own. So figure it out. NOW._

Romano grumbled to himself, setting the book down with a huff. He knew exactly who's fault this was. "Damnable Spaniard…" It was all his fault. It always was, you know.

"Roma, Ludwig and I are going out for a little bit," Veneciano sang, pushing open Romano's bedroom door. "Okay?"

"Si, fratello," Romano scowled. "You better make sure that damn potato sucker doesn't do anything stupid."

Veneciano laughed. "Ve, I think I would be more likely to make a fool of myself, fratello. Si?"

"That's because you're an idiot," Romano smirked. "Have fun, don't drown or anything. Oh, and, tell the potato bastard that if you get hurt I will personally come over there and castrate him, then shove his hairy little balls down his fucking throat. Si?"

"Okay, fratello," Veneciano said smiled benignly and closing the door behind him. "Ciao!"

"Ciao, Veni," Romano said absently, flopping down on his back on his squishy bed. He had the house to himself now…wonderful. "Hours alone with my thoughts…" He smirked bitterly. "Joy. Let's hope I don't break anything. Again…"

Last time Romano had been let to his own devices, he'd gotten drunk and disappeared for three days. He still hadn't told anyone about it, but he'd come back with a tattoo on his back of a dragon with a gaping hole in it's chest.

That was three months ago, and the only ones who knew about the tattoo were him and Veneciano, who kept pestering Romano about where he'd been until the elder twin was near to strangling the younger. And Veneciano still didn't know the answer to his questions.

Romano stared at his peach-colored ceiling, wondering what he could do to appease his boredom. Finally, he settled on turning his radio on as loud as it would go and listening to Italian rock songs, and taking a shower. Music blasted through the house; Romano was pretty sure that if the neighbors hadn't been on vacation to the United States they'd be complaining bitterly. Like always.

He stripped, climbing into the shower, letting the warm water run over his body. He relaxed into the water, one hands sneaking down between his legs to slid smoothly along his already hardening member. He stroked himself, bringing his member to full mast, working himself to release.

A single name slipped out from between his tightly clenched teeth. A single name that Romano himself didn't even realize he had uttered. Just one name.

"Antonio…"

Antonio sat up in Gilbert's bed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He squinted at the clock, groaning at the time.

"Shutthefuckup," Gilbert spat, burying his face under the pillows to shield himself from the dim light sneaking under the thick curtains.

"You," Antonio grumbled, standing. "Where the hell are my boxers?"

"Hell if I know," Gilbert's voice came, muffled, from under the pillow. "Borrow a pair of mine; it's not like you haven't done it before."

Antonio nodded amicably, digging through Gilbert's dresser drawers till he found a pair of boxers that weren't as ridiculously flashy as many of the other pairs. He snagged a t-shirt and his still-clean shorts from the night before, then padded off to the bathroom to shower and change.

He stood under the hot water for a good fifteen minutes, doing nothing. Just leaning against the back wall, a tight feeling in his gut. And then he retched noisily into the bottom of the shower.

"Blegh…" Antonio mumbled, feeling only slightly better. "I hate drinking."

"Because you're suck a fucking lightweight," Gilbert grumbled, puking into the toilet.

"Oh, shut up," Antonio muttered weakly, reaching for a toothbrush on the sink counter.

_4) Deal With It:_

_You're gonna have to figure out how to deal with this eventually, so now is as good a time as any. Just, for god's sake, don't act all awkward and crap around the thing that's got you all confused. Try to avoid that at ALL COSTS._

"Hey, Romano!" Antonio banged open the door to the Vargas household.

"What?" Romano looked up from his book, a vague guilty expression crossing his features before returning to his customary scowl. "Oh. Tomato bastard. What do you want?"

"I just wanted to say hi, Lovi!" Antonio flopped down on the couch next to the scowling young man. "Is that a crime now?"

"Yes, yes it is," Romano grumbled, turning away from Antonio.

"But Lovi!" Antonio whined, tugging on Romano's curl.

"**Don't touch that, bastard**!" Romano growled, smacking away Antonio's hand, bright red.

"Why not, Lovi?" Antonio inquired curiously. "You always tell me not to, but you never tell me why."

Romano glared at Antonio out of the corner of his eye. "You don't need to know, damn it. It doesn't concern you."

"But Lovi!" Antonio complained.

"No!" Romano snapped, blush fading, to be replaced by a dark scowl. "Can't you go find one of your perverted friends to hang out with?"

"No," Antonio shook his head. "Gilbert's watching futbol with West, and I haven't been able to locate Francis."

Romano scowled at him. "Whatever." He turned away, resolutely ignoring the Spaniard.

"Whatcha reading?" Antonio asked curiously, trying to peer over Romano's shoulder to catch a glimpse of the page.

"N-none of your business!" Romano exclaimed, snapping the book shut.

Antonio sighed, slumping backwards. "Fine, Lovi…I guess I'll just go now."

"Thank god," Romano sighed, once the other had left, rubbing his face in his hands. "Damn Spaniard…never leaves me alone…" He shifted awkwardly, his pants feeling far to tight to be comfortable. "Stupid curl…" He grumbled, pulling on it harshly, feeling a responding heat pull in his stomach. "Time for another shower, I think…" Romano grumbled to himself, making his way gingerly to the bathroom.

_5) You're Not Alone:_

_I promise you, you're not alone; no matter how much it may seem like it, there are people going through what you're going through every damn day. You're not the only one, so don't act like it. The world does NOT hate you, people don't NOT want to be with you; if they do it's only because you're being an annoying twat and forcing everyone away._

"Veni, Romano doesn't like me," Antonio pouted, crossing his arms.

"Ve…I'm sure he'll come around," Veneciano shrugged, stirring his sauce. "He always does, si?"

"Si, but this time I really think he hates me," Antonio sighed, sitting on one of the barstools.

Veneciano patted Antonio's shoulder, curl springing through the air like it had a mind of it's own.

"Also," Antonio began, drawing in the condensation on his glass. "Why does Lovi not like having his curl touched?"

"Ve," Veneciano giggled. "You haven't guessed yet? It's a…a…erogenous zone, I think dat's the word…"

Antonio stared blankly at him.

"It's a turn on, Toni," Veneciano giggled. "Every time you pull on fratello's curl, it makes him all hot and bothered. Ve~ you really didn't notice?"

"Oh…" Antonio muttered, eyes wide as saucers. "Oh dear…I didn't know!"

"Of course not," Ludwig said, sitting down on the other barstool, watching his little Italian bustle around the kitchen. "It took me awhile to figure out, too."

"But then we were able to put it to good use," Veneciano winked.

Ludwig smirked, and Antonio blushed tomato red. "Dios mio…I don't need to know about your sex life, gracias."

Romano lay on his back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His stomach churned miserably, and his palms were sweaty. He was really nervous, and he didn't know why, and it was driving him _crazy_. Something…there was a little something hanging in the air, and whether it was a portent for good or bad, no one could say…

_6) Recognizing Your 'Insanity' For What it Really Is:_

_Okay, cut the crap. If you haven't realized that your 'insanity' is really love, then you're stupider than I thought. You love him/her, don't you? Admit it. ADMIT IT, you're not fooling anyone. Okay, maybe that was a bit harsh... Oh well. Suck it up._

Romano gave a muffled shout, throwing the book across the room. "No! of course not! Stupid book!"

"Roma? Are you okay?"

Of course it was Veneciano, wondering what Romano was yelling about. And what that loud noise was…?

"I'm fine, Veni, go away," Romano grumbled, glaring at his favorite tomato-shaped pillow. The one that had a vague scowl and narrowed eyes. The…one that Antonio had gotten him, actually…

"But Roma…" Veneciano deftly pulled a paperclip out of his back pocket and used it to pick the lock on his elder twin's room. "What's wrong?" He always knew when something was truly bothering his brother.

"Remind me again why I taught you how to pick locks?" Romano grumbled, grabbing the tomato pillow and crushing it to his chest.

"So if I ever lost my keys again, I could just break in!" Veneciano grinned widely, flopping down on the bed next to Romano. "So…Roma, what's wrong?"

"Nothings wrong!" Romano yelled, gripping his pillow tightly. He covertly tucked the book under his bed with the toe of his foot, hoping Veneciano hadn't seen it.

Veneciano shook his head, pulling Romano into a hug. "Lovi, ve~, you can always tell me! I may not be smart, but I'm a good listener!"

Romano sighed, glancing down. "It's…really, Veni, it's nothing you have to worry about. I'll figure it out on my own, si?"

"Okay…" Veneciano hugged Romano tighter. "Te amo, fratello!"

"Yes, yes, te amo," Romano muttered, patting Veneciano's back. "Now get the hell off me, bastard."

"Ve~!" Veneciano jumped up. "Ciao!"

"Bye," Romano waved as Veneciano closed his door. He flopped backwards on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, confused as hell. He reached under the low bed, and grabbed _that_ book. He held it up, and the light from the sun out the window glinted off the cover, allowing him to see what had been scribbled out.

"Ah…hell…" Romano cursed. "_Guide to Insanity and Love_?" He sighed, tossing an arm over his eyes for a mid-afternoon siesta.

His dreams were filled with a certain brunette Spaniard with bright brown eyes and an inquisitive smile.

"Roma! Toni's here!" Veneciano yelled through the door, to no answer. "Roma? Are you awake?" He opened the unlocked door, spying Romano flopped on his back, mouth hanging open, eyes shut tight in sleep. "Aw…ve~ It's so cute!"

He tucked Romano's favorite pillow next to his head, backing quietly out of the room.

"He's asleep," Veneciano giggled, poking Antonio.

"He is?" Antonio blinked. "Si?"

"Si!" Veneciano giggled, "Ve~ it's so adorable!"

Antonio smiled, rolling his eyes. "Veni, you're such a dork."

"Ve?" Veneciano titled his head to the side.

"Nothing," Antonio shook his head, smirking softly.

Romano jerked awake with a start, sweaty and panting. He pants felt noticeably tighter, an almost uncomfortable amount of pressure on his member. He grumbled, sitting up awkwardly.

He recognized the person that had been invading his dreams for the past few weeks now. Finally.

"Antonio…" He muttered, blushing.

A quick glance out the window showed him that it was after dark, and that the moon was already rising. He mumbled under his breath, his stomach demanding sustenance. He opened his door, glancing back and forth.

No one was awake. Or so it seemed…

He crept to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and immediately spied the plate with his name on it, literally and figuratively. Plastic-wrapped spaghetti, with a sticky note with 'Lovi~' written on it in Veneciano's distinct scribble. Romano pulled it out, licking his lips hungrily.

"Lovi?"

Romano spun, nearly dropping his plate. He dove, cradling it to his chest like it was a baby, glaring up at the owner of the voice. "Bastard!" He hissed, scowling fiercely.

"Ah, Lovi!" Antonio yawned, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "It's almost midnight."

"So what?" Romano grumbled, grabbing a fork, tossing the plastic wrap in the garbage. "This is my house, damn tomato bastard. I can be awake whenever I want to!" He stared at his plate, hoping the Spaniard didn't notice his blush. He was still getting used to the idea of liking… Oh, who are we kidding? _Loving_ the damn bastard.

"I know," Antonio sat down across from him, kicking up his feet on a chair. "I was wondering when you were going to wake up."

"Whenever I damn well pleased!" Romano scowled fiercely at him, stabbing a chunk of tomato and shoving it in his mouth. "What's it to you?"

"Oh, nothing," Antonio shrugged, grinning faintly.

The only noise for many long moments was the chink of silverware on china.

"Stop fucking staring at me!" Romano exclaimed, slamming his fist down on the table irritably. "Fucking creeper…"

Antonio smiled blandly, eyes closing. He yawned.

"Go to bed," Romano said. "Aw, Lovi, are you worried about me?" Antonio smiled sweetly.

"Fuck no!" Romano growled. "I'm just tired of you staring at me while I try to eat, damn it!"

Antonio laughed, standing. He ruffled Romano's hair as he passed by, going back to bed.

Romano scowled at his pasta, blushing. "Damn…"

_PART II: Solving Your Real Problem_

_1) It's Called A Confession:_

_Don't be embarrassed, people confess their love for one another all the time! Be it a simple 'I love you' or a more elaborate 'You are my heart and soul,' each person has their own interpretation of it. So. Do it. I COMMAND IT. Heh, just kidding. But seriously. Get with the program, bitch._

Romano scowled, snorting. "Yeah, right…" He muttered, "As if." He stared at the ceiling, frowning thoughtfully. As if Antonio would ever actually love him too, he mentally mused. Especially not when he had so many other options available.

"Lovi!" Antonio sang, throwing open the door.

Romano yelped, hurriedly stuffing the book between his bed and bedside table. He chucked a pillow at the obnoxious Spaniard to buy him some time.

Antonio yelped, catching the pillow in the face. It bounced off him, and landed smoothly in his hands. "Ah~ Lovi! You kept the pillow I got you! I'm so happy!"

"Stop getting so sappy, bastard," Romano muttered, looking down. "I only kept it 'cause it's soft."

"But you kept it~" Antonio grinned, flopping down next to Romano on his bed. "That's what counts, Lovi!"

Romano mumbled nothing in particular, blushing, looking away. "Lovi!" Antonio hugged his favorite Italian -hell, his favorite person- to him. "Te amo, Lovi!"

"Don't say that!" Romano stormed, jerking out of his grasp. "Only say things like that if you _mean_ it, bastard!"

Antonio blinked. "Lo…vi?" His eyes widened in thought. "Lovi, do you love me?"

"Of…" Romano began to burn a deep, dark red. "Of course not, bastard! What the hell would give you that idea?!"

"Aw, Lovi, you do!" Antonio hugged him tightly to his chest. "Te amo, Lovi! I swear!"

Romano struggled to escape the tight grip, but was stopped suddenly by Antonio's lips on his. His eyes widened, and Antonio nipped at his bottom lip. He gasped in surprise, and Antonio took that opportunity to invade his mouth, tongue sliding over his teeth.

Romano moaned into the kiss, a noise that Antonio gladly swallowed.

Antonio's hands slid up Romano's sides, thumbs tracing small circles on his ribs.

They broke apart, and Romano gazed at Antonio with wonder-filled eyes. "Antonio…?"

"Te amo, Romano," Antonio said, directly meeting Romano's eyes. "Now, and forever…"

Romano hugged Antonio tightly, saying, "Ti amo, Toni. Ti amo!" A sudden idea popped into his head, and he grinned devilishly. He bit down on Antonio's neck, making the elder moan throatily.

"Ai, dios mio…" Antonio moaned, running his fingers through Romano's hair, unconsciously searching for that one, specific curl… Romano moaned, mouth going slack in pleasure, and Antonio lightly tugged on the curl.

"B-bastard…" Romano moaned, eyes fluttering shut. He licked at the mark on Antonio's neck hungrily, before biting again.

"Lovi…" Antonio mumbled. He stroked up and down Romano's sides, fingers whispering over silk-smooth skin. His fingers just barely dipped below the waist of Romano's jeans, and-

"Antonio! Romano!" Someone banged on the door roughly.

Antonio groaned, slumping. "Damn Frenchman…"

Romano stood up, noting absently that his shirt was unbuttoned, and marched over to the door. "What do you want?" He growled, jerking open the door.

Francis stared in shock at the rumpled looking Italian. "Erm…Romano? Is Toni in there?"

Antonio draped himself over Romano's lithe form possessively, wrapping his arms around his thin waist.

Francis blinked.

"Francis, go away," Antonio growled, nuzzling Romano's throat. "I might play with you and Gilly-Bird later."

Romano leaned back against Antonio, smirking faintly.

"Oui, time to go," Francis mumbled, turning away, "Have fun. Gilbert!" And he was gone, dragging the albino with him.

Antonio reached around Romano, closing the door, and led him back to the bed.

_2) A Crazy Little Thing Called Love:_

_Keep it moving. Never let your love grow stale, or it'll start to get boring, and you'll both be more likely to be unfaithful. Keep it fresh, keep doing things._

"Oh, Lovi!" Antonio sang, pushing open their front door. "I'm home!"

"I'm in the kitchen," Romano said.

Antonio wrapped his arms around Romano's waist, nuzzling his neck. "Oh, Lovi! Te amo."

"Ti amo, Toni," Romano rolled his eyes. "Now get off me, bastard. I'm trying to clean."

"Aw, Lovi…" Antonio grumbled, but let him go, sitting down at the bar. "Happy birthday, Lovi!"

Lovi blinked. He'd forgotten about that…

"Don't tell me you forgot your own birthday!" Antonio grinned. "Dios mio, Lovi!"

"Shut up, bastard!" Romano grumbled, looking away. "I wasn't thinking about it."

Antonio smiled, "Ah, Lovi, will you go on a walk with me? Please?"

Romano glanced back at his lover, seeing his pleading expression, and sighed, slumping. "Fine…only for you, damn tomato bastard."

"Yay!" Antonio clapped his hands happily. He dashed off to their room, while Romano rinsed and dried his hands. He leaned against the counter, waiting for Antonio.

"Sorry, Lovi," Antonio apologized, reappearing from the bedroom, wearing his jacket, Romano's draped over his arm.

Romano shrugged, slipping into his jacket, allowing himself to be led from the house they now shared. They walked to the quaint little park nearby, hand in hand.

Antonio pulled Romano to him, tucking him under his arm, making the small Italian blush and mutter under his breath. Toni kissed Romano's forehead.

"Stop it," Romano muttered, nudging Antonio's ribs. "Bastard…"

"Te amo, Lovi," Antonio laughed, wrapping an arm tighter. He gently squeezed Romano's butt, making him squeak in embarrassed surprise.

"_Pervert!_" Romano exclaimed, smacking Antonio's chest. "Dirty minded fiend!"

"I don't have a dirty mind. I have a sexy imagination," Antonio retorted kindly, smirking.

Romano grumbled, looking down and away. "Damn tomato bastard…"

Antonio laughed lightly, ruffling Romano's hair.

The two walked together for a little bit, until they came to a small pond, where Antonio pulled them to a stop.

Antonio smiled, letting go of Romano and stepping away.

Romano glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, watching Antonio dig through his pockets. _'Probably looking for his cell phone,'_ Romano smirked mentally.

"Ah-ha!" Antonio cried triumphantly, pulling something out of his pocket that he deftly hid from Romano.

"What were you looking for?" Romano asked curiously, cocking his head to the side.

Antonio blushed, looking down. "I…have a question, Romano…"

Now Romano was worried. Antonio never, _ever_, called him Romano. It was rare when he called him 'Lovino' even. "Antonio?"

Antonio knelt in front of him, holding up the little black box. "Lovi…"

Romano's eyes widened hugely, and he stared at Antonio.

"Te amo, Lovi," Antonio said, flipping the box open, displaying the simple silver band, set with a single diamond. "Will you marry me?"

Romano simply stared, before breaking down, tears slipping from his eyes. "Yes, si, I'll marry you…"

Antonio stood up and hugged Romano, slipping the ring onto his finger. It fit perfectly, of course.

Romano rubbed at his eyes, muttering to himself. "I'm such a girl, it's ridiculous…"

Antonio smiled, pulling Romano into a bone-melting kiss, holding him tightly, hands intertwined.

_3) DON'T FORGET:_

_Never forget what got you to this place. Never forget why you fell in love._

_Never forget what makes you, you. And, most importantly, NEVER FORGET TO SAY I LOVE YOU TOO._

Romano flipped through the last couple pages of _The Guide to Insanity and Love_, a faint smile dusting his features.

He looked down at the silver ring glittering faintly on his finger. Antonio was out at a tuxedo fitting, and he was coming to pick him up in about a half-hour.

"Lovi!" Antonio sang, pushing open the door. "Te amo!"

"Ti amo, bastard," Romano rolled his eyes, quickly closing his notebook. He didn't want Antonio to see his vows before the wedding.

Antonio flopped on the couch next to him, picking up the book that was still on the coffee table. "Guide to Insanity?" Antonio asked curiously.

Romano shrugged. "It was an interesting read. And, technically, it's called _The Guide to Insanity and Love_."

"Oh?" Antonio flipped it open. "It's not very nice, is it?"

"It's called sarcasm, bastard," Romano rolled his eyes, smirking. "You get it from me all the time."

"I know, Lovi," Antonio leaned against his fiancé, wrapping his arms around his waist. He nuzzled into Romano's neck, nipping lightly.

"No, no, bastard," Romano tried to push him away vainly. "Not now…"

"But Lovi!" Antonio pouted, biting Romano's neck, making him twitch.

Romano sighed, "Fine, bastard." The notebook went flying in the general direction of the table, skimming across and falling onto the floor.

Romano held Antonio's hand tightly, feeling like he was about to faint. _And this is why I hate being the center of attention…_ he thought. _Just pretend that no one's looking at you. They're all looking at Antonio._

He took a deep breath, looking up at Antonio, who was watching him with an expression of complete adoration and love. Romano could feel himself starting to smile.

"Antonio?" The Justice of the Peace asked, looking at him.

He nodded, looking at Romano intensely. "Lovi, te amo! You are my one, my only, my everything. I swear to take care of you till the end of my days, until death do us part. I promise to never stop loving you. I know I may sometimes be…not smart, but I want to try to always understand you and cherish you. I want you by my side, forever and beyond. This I do swear."

Romano wiped away a tear, determined to not start crying. "Toni…Ti amo, I promise. I promise to never forget the first time I met you. I vow to never forget why I fell in love with you. I swear to always love you. I may be rude, a lot, but I would never hurt you. I thank you for being able to see past the complicated mess that is me, and for being able to love me. I want to stay by your side forever, if you'll let me. This I do swear."

Antonio smiled happily, allowing a few tears to slip down his face. "My Lovi…"

The Justice of the Peace smiled, clapping her hands. She tossed her long, curly brown hair behind her, saying, "And I now pronounce you husband and husband. Go ahead and kiss him."

Antonio leaned down and kissed Romano sweetly, eyes locked.

Romano reached for his hand, skimming down his arm, entwining their fingers together. His other hand wrapped around Toni's waist, pulling him closer.

"Aw…" Elizeveta sighed, "it's so cute…!"

Romano covertly flipped her off, not bothering to pull away from his romantic Spaniard.

**Guess what? I'm not done yet. I've still got a few more parts to go! There are many parts to this story, this is only the first one: Anger.**

**So! Je t'aime! Aurevoir! Until we meet again, mon cher!**


	2. Lust

"Oh, mon Angleterre!"

Arthur winced, staring resolutely down at his book, a tale of black magic, desperation, and love on the high seas.

"Are you in here?"

Maybe if he was quiet, the stupid Frenchman would go away and leave him alone. Thinking that thought, Arthur sank lower in his chair.

"Ah! Arthur!" Francis leaned over the back of his chair, ruffling the hair of the Englishman. "There you are!"

"Knock it off," Arthur scowled, swatting his hands away. "I'm not a dog, damn it!"

"Aw, but I just want to pet you all day!" Francis sang, twirling around the chair. "You'd be such a pretty puppy, Arthur!"

"I'm not a bloody dog!" Arthur contemplated throwing his book, but he knew he'd probably miss and end up breaking something important. It had happened before…

"I know," Francis dropped into Arthur's lap, making the shorter of the two gasp and stutter.

"F-fucking bastard! What the h-hell do you think y-you're doing?" Arthur tried to sound fierce, but ended up sounding like a beaten puppy, all quivery and shaky.

"I am enjoying my Englishman!" Francis smiled seductively, cupping Arthur's face with his hands.

"_I'm not __**your**__ bloody Englishman!_" Arthur yelled, shoving Francis off his lap forcefully. "Now get out of my house!"

Francis pouted, slinking out of the house. "Aurevoir, Arthur…" He started to say, but the door was slammed in his face. Francis stuffed his hands in the pockets of his favorite purple sweatshirt with the rabbit fur-lined hood that he wore _everywhere_, and slunk off down the street, scowling thoughtfully.

He passed by a figure with a distinctly familiar build, brown hair, and a singular curl that stuck out of the side of his head like it had a will of it's own.

"Roma?" Francis blinked at the Italian in confusion.

Said Italian froze mid-stride, turning to face the vaguely confused Frenchman with a forced smiled. "Si?"

"I thought you were on your honeymoon with Antonio?" Francis asked, cocking his head to the side.

"We just got back yesterday," Romano said guardedly, running a hand down the front of his military green jacket.

"Oh! Give my good wishes to Tonio, won't you?" Francis started to walk away again.

Romano had a sudden idea, glancing back at Arthur's door. He knew that Arthur already liked the Frenchman, very strongly, in fact, so…it'd probably be kinda pointless to give him _The Guide_. "Hey, Francy, hold on a sec," he reached for Francis's arm. He didn't know how the Frenchy felt about Arthur, because of how he flirted with anything that breathed and had legs, but, hey, it was worth a shot, right?

"Oui?" Francis glanced back at him.

"How much do you like reading?"

Francis blinked. That was the most random question that he had ever heard anyone ask. Well, except Veneciano. That kid could pop off the weirdest questions that had absolutely nothing to do with anything.

"Well, not as much as Arthur, but I suppose one could say I do," Francis shrugged, no idea where this was heading. "Why?"

In answer, Romano pressed a thin, brown paper wrapped package into his hands. "Try this one; it's a good read, very worth it. As long as you get past the sarcasm, anyway."

Francis blinked. "Erm…"

Romano patted his hand, turning away. "Ciao!" He skipped off down the street, feeling immensely lighter.

Francis stared after the normally bitchy brunette in confusion, then down at the package. He stared at it doubtfully, wondering if it was a bomb or something that would explode as soon as he pulled off the string.

He did so hesitantly, and, when nothing happened, unwrapped it, continuing on down the street.

"_Guide to Insanity_…?" Francis blinked, flipping open the book. He completely skipped past the first section, going straight to section two: labeled quite accurately for him as '_Lust_.'

"This should be interesting," Francis smirked, walking down the street, the book tucked under his arm.

_1) Objectivity_

_Alright. Something/someone's got you fixated. Right? What is it? Or, WHO is it, I should probably ask. But anyway, go figure it out, and then you can come back. Yeah?_

Francis tapped the cover of the book thoughtfully, his elegantly manicured nails making gentle clicking noises.

"Hm…I would say Arthur, but he's a twat, so he doesn't count…" Francis mused, dressed in a pair of obnoxious red yoga pants…and nothing else. "He can't even cook properly!"

The doorbell rang, startling him out of his reverie.

He went to the door, opening it, expecting to find a person, but instead he found a small envelope sitting on his doorstep. It was unmarked, but he presumed it was for himself, as it _had_ been sitting on his steps. He picked it up and opened it, pulling out the single sheet of creamy white paper.

A random thought crossed his mind that it might be a hex from Arthur, but he decided against that. Arthur wouldn't do that two weeks in a row, would he?

Last time, he'd had one bad hair day after another, and had almost nearly contemplated cutting it all off, it was such a hassle. Split-ends, fly-aways, and just pure unmanageable chaos for an entire _week_!

Thankfully, he'd persuaded himself to not cut his hair, and everything had returned to normal.

Francis unfolded the slip of paper, reading the short passage inside, written in size 12 Times New Roman font.

~_Francis_

_Would you meet me at noon, three days from now, at the west entrance to Queen Anne's Park? You have…no idea who I am, and I'd like it to stay that way, for now. Until then, anyway. Well, Francis, It pains me to admit it, but I think I've liked you…for a long while now. Until we meet again, Francis, come what may._

_~A Secret Admirer_

Francis giggled, clasping the letter to his chest. "Ohonhonhon! A secret admirer! Francis is loved!"

He wondered who it could be. Obviously, the letter writer knew Francis. The only people who knew where he lived were Gilbert, Antonio, Arthur, Yao, and Ludwig, and he _highly_ doubted any of them would send him a love letter.

Gilbert was straight, as far as he knew, and had no inclination of going the other way. Antonio was happily married, Arthur hated him with a _burning_ passion, Yao was…Yao, and Ludwig was as happily frolicking with Veneciano in the flowery fields of love.

Francis gagged a little on that thought, snorting. "Yeah, right, 'flowery fields of love,' my ass. Where the hell do I pull these phrases from, anyway?"

He shrugged, setting the letter on his bedside table, and returned to that book. Romano had been right, it was a good read, once you got past all the sarcasm and patronizing.

_2) Distance is Crucial_

_No, I'm not talking about football, or soccer, or whatever the hell it is you men are playing nowadays when you've nothing better to do. I'm talking about trying to alter your attraction to this particular object without breaking it or making you even crazier than you already are. Sounds easy, right? WRONG. Dead wrong. It's harder than you think. Especially if this object is a person. They're probably going to be curious as to why you're acting weird. I recommend ignoring that. Why? Just because._

Francis burst out laughing, smiling broadly. "Oh, oui, so true!" He shook his head at himself, just noting that he was talking to a _book_. "Oh, woe be me, talking to a book. How desperate must I be?" He rolled his eyes, setting the book down. "It is time I took a break, no?"

He wandered into the kitchen, rummaging around for a fluted glass and a bottle of his favorite wine.

"Oh Francey-Pants~!"

Francis twitched. Oh, how he hated that nickname. Despised it, in fact. But…the person calling him it? Not so much. It's difficult to hate one's younger sister, no matter how annoying she is.

"Please, cher, do not call me that," Francis said, turning to face the obnoxious young blonde that looked almost identical to himself.

"Call you what, Francey?" She asked innocently, hoisting herself up onto the counter, swinging her blue-fishnet-stocking clad legs merrily.

Francis leaned against the counter, pouring another glass and handing it to her. She loved wine as much as he did, in fact.

"Paris, why must you always show up at my home at the strangest of times?" Francis asked curiously, sipping at the wine.

"Well," Paris said, setting her glass down and hopping off the counter. She only came up to about Francis's collar. "I just got back from Arthur's house."

"I'll bet he appreciated that," Francis sighed. Arthur liked Paris about as much as he disliked Francis.

"Oh, oui!" Paris grinned secretively. "We had a very long talk about love, and all that stuff."

"Love?" Francis blinked. "Why love?"

Paris shrugged, "I think it was because he'd just finished one of his porn-with-a-plot books. I saw it on the table. Something about the black sea."

"Ah…" Francis nodded, looking down thoughtfully.

"He's cute, isn't he?" Paris said suddenly, pouring herself another glass of wine.

Francis nearly did a spit-take. He set the glass down gently, and turned to Paris. "Arthur? Him?! You think he's cute?! Way to rip my heart out, mon soeur!"

Paris shrugged. "Well he is. Even with his funny eyebrows. I wonder what he's like in b-"

"Don't you dare finish that thought," Francis growled, pale as new snow. "My mental sanity depends on it." It wasn't like he'd never imagined what Arthur would be like in bed, hell, he did it all the time! But to have his _younger sister_ pointing out things he already knew, but didn't want to really accept, was just too much for him to handle.

"Alright, alright," Paris laughed, draining her third glass. "I'm done," she leaned up on tiptoes, kissing Francis's bristly cheek. "Aurevoir, brother!"

"Adieu," Francis sighed, watching her leave the same way she'd come in: one of his back windows. "You could use the door, you know!"

"Oui," she shrugged, uncaring, contorting to fit through the tiny gap. "But I don't want to. So there."

Francis rolled his eyes, walking over to close the window she'd left open. Again. He thought about going to visit Arthur again, but…after yesterday? Probably not the most brilliant of ideas.

Arthur flipped through his new book absently, unable to focus. His thoughts kept straying to a certain Frenchman, making a dark blush rise on his cheeks.

"I…am an idiot," he declared, snapping the book shut after reading the same line three times in a row. "This has been established." He shook his head, self-derision-filled thoughts running rampant inside his head.

He sighed morosely, standing. It was time for a cup of tea.

"Oh, Arthur!"

"Paris?" Arthur glanced around for the petite blonde. "Back already?"

"Oui!" She smiled kindly, holding out a cup of hot tea and a tiny plate of those fancy French cakes he loved so much, but would never admit.

"How was Francis?" Arthur asked, sipping the absolutely perfect tea.

"Oh, you know," Paris rolled her eyes. "Francis was Francis: running around half-naked with a bottle of wine in one hand and Pierre on his shoulder."

"Sounds like him," Arthur nodded.

"He got a letter today," Paris glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "From a secret admirer."

Arthur paused momentarily, cup halfway to his lips. He continued on, saying, "Oh? When did he get it?" There was a faint, almost imperceptible tremble to his hand as he set down the teacup again.

"This morning," Paris said, snacking on one of the minicakes. "At least, I think so. It wasn't there yesterday, anyway." She glanced at him, "Did you have any thing to do with this, Arthur?"

"Of…of course not," Arthur shrugged innocently, smiling blandly.

"You wrote the letter, didn't you," Paris grinned.

"Shush!" Arthur flapped a hand at her, looking away. "Why would I do that? I mean, it's Francis!"

Paris was not fooled. In the slightest. Having lived with Francis her whole life, in France, she knew the signals of lying. "You're not fooling anyone." The fact that she already knew that Arthur _liked_ Francis, no matter how much he may put up a front of otherwise.

"I'm not trying to fool anyone," Arthur shrugged innocently. "What ever would make you say that, silly, silly child."

"Oi! I'm only three months younger than you!" Paris exclaimed, crossing her arms. "And that is _not_ getting you off the topic, mister!"

Arthur sighed, looking down. "So what if I did write the letter? It's not like he'd ever show up anyway. He thinks I'm just some freaky Englishman."

Paris squealed happily. "So you did write the letter!"

"So what?!" Arthur exclaimed, avoiding looking at her. "It's just… I'm just… I shouldn't even go…"

"What?" Paris exclaimed. "You can't do that! That's not fair!"

"Neither is life!" Arthur nearly yelled, pounding his fist on the table in anger.

Paris immediately pulled him into a hug, rubbing his back soothingly. "Arthur, Arthur, calm. Remember to breathe, remember to just let it all go…"

Arthur took a deep, steadying breath. "I'm…calm…" He sighed shakily, clenching his fists.

"Are you sure?" Paris asked, cupping his face.

"Yes," Arthur nodded, picking up his cup of tea, sipping it gently. "I'm sure…"

"Good," Paris nodded. "Now, we need to figure out what you're going to wear…"

Arthur nearly inhaled his tea. His eyes flew open, and he choked, swallowing, setting the cup down with a rattle. "_Excuse me?!_"

_3) Infatuation:_

_Isn't it an amazing thing? Aren't they, whoever 'they' might be, amazing, in their own special way? Doesn't it just make you tingle? In a good way, not a creepy way. Aren't they just perfect? Don't you just want to spend the rest of your life with them?_

Francis stared at the book in vague amazement. It was just _so_ accurate, it was almost scary!

But, of course, his Englishman probably thought he was a crazy twat whom he'd rather hang from the rafters then spend a week with.

Francis sighed.

And then shook himself. He was being depressed for no particular reason over a…unique, I suppose is the word, Englishman who was so far out of his league in wasn't even remotely entertaining.

"Wait," Francis told himself. "Am I actually mooning over that… freak of nature? That Iggybrows?!"

"Yes, yes you are!" Paris giggled, lounging across the back of the couch.

Francis jumped and spun, nearly falling in his shock. "Can you not show up like a _normal human being_?!"

"Course I can," Paris rolled her eyes. "It's just, I don't choose to. What's the good of training to be a ninja if you can't use it?" She rolled off the couch, landing neatly on her fingertips and toes. Today, she was clad in a black and white sailor suit, mainly black. On her feet were a pair of black sneakers covered in stars and moons.

"What are you, little Petre's elder gothic sister?" Francis mocked, flicking the cap off her head.

"No, I'm little Francis Bonnefoy's younger gothic sister," Paris shot back, laughing. She flopped the cap back on her head, fiddling with the pure white ribbons. "Anyway! You, mooning about our favorite Englishman. Tell."

"Nope," Francis shook his head.

"But…" Paris pouted. "Francy!"

"Not a chance," Francis shook his head, studiously avoiding looking at her.

"Please tell me?" Paris begged on her knees, tugging on his loose t-shirt's hem. "Pwease, brother?"

"Nope," Francis looked up and away, knowing that if he looked at her, even a little bit, all resolve would be lost and he'd spill everything. "Not gonna."

"Why not?" Paris pouted, sitting back, her arms crossed over her full chest.

"Because you don't need to know," Francis said, in a 'duh' tone.

Paris stuck out her bottom lip even farther. "But…Francis…you like Arthur, don't you?"

Francis paused, then blew her off in a typically French manner. "Who, me? Must be someone else you're thinking of. Like that annoying American boy."

"No, he's got a crush on Matthew," Paris said, leaning against the cupboard.

"Who?" Francis blinked at her.

"You know, Matthew," Paris looked at him. "You really don't remember?"

"Should I?" Francis cocked his head to the side.

"You only helped raise him for nearly ten years," Paris exclaimed, hands on her hips, looking up at him from the floor. "You really don't remember? Wow, you're dumber than I thought…"

Francis glared at her. "Rude~!"

"Whatever," Paris rolled her eyes, uncaring. "But anyway, back to Arthur. You like him~!"

"Do not," was Francis's immediate reply. "Can not, will not."

Paris wrinkled her nose in distaste at her elder brother's pig-headed stubbornness. "Fine then, frog." She stood, walking back to her favored entry point: one of the back windows that led out to the back garden. "At least think about it, and _then_ you can tell me no. Okay?"

"Oui, oui," Francis waved her away. "Could you at least take the door this time?" But she was already gone, skipping off to Kiku's house for a mid-afternoon sparring session.

Francis rolled his eyes, sighing, rubbing his temples in annoyance. "Why do I put up with her again? Oh, yeah, because she makes good wine." He flopped back down on his brilliant purple couch. "Now, what should I do today…?"

_3) Let's be Amazing:_

_Come on, you know it's true. You're amazing, right? Well duh, of course you are. But that doesn't mean that you have to be a snotty, know-it-all, annoying, obnoxious twat. Because then everyone, not least of all your fixation, will hate you and want you gone. So don't be annoying, even if it's what comes naturally._

Francis snickered, "I am not annoying!"

"Ve~ yes you are!"

"What the fuck!" Francis yelled, staring around.

"Ciao!" Feliciano peeped over edge of the couch, waving spastically.

"Why the fuck do you people keep coming over?!" Francis exclaimed, sitting up with a snap.

"Because it's fun!" Feliciano grinned, clapping his hands.

"Who are you here with?" Francis sighed, looking behind Feliciano at the other Italian, crossing his arms and leaning up against the doorframe, and the Spaniard.

"Ah, Toni!" Francis chuckled, standing. "Long time no see, mon cher!"

Toni and Francis hugged, patting each other's back.

Romano rolled his eyes, sitting down on Francis's soft purple couch. He, predictably, did not want to be at the perverted wine-bastard's house. Never did, never would. He spied the thin green book on the table, and his lips curled into a smirk. Obviously, by the bookmark in it, Francis was reading it.

_4) Obviously_

_It's not called 'fixation', it's called LOVE. Got that through your thick skull yet? You should. I mean, I'll bet everyone you know has already figure it out, and probably giving you a couple not-so-subtle hints, right? Sooooo…tell them, and tell them ASAP._

Francis set the book down, a little numb. "I…" He never realized how intensely he felt for his little British companion. Something…he never wanted to admit until now, really. He wandered back to his room, getting dressed for his jaunt to Queen Anne's Park. He would probably tell the 'secret admirer' that he could never love him.

He wondered absently where Paris was.

"You're not honestly expecting me to go through with this, are you?" Arthur asked guardedly, staring at Paris, digging through his closets.

"Holy heck, you actually own a pair of skinny jeans?!" Paris exclaimed, pulling out the pair of bleached, splatter-patter painted skinny jeans.

"Erm…" Arthur blushed bright red, looking down. "Ah, well, you see…"

Paris pulled a ticket out of one of the back pockets. "A…" She blinked, doing a double take. "Dude! I wanted to go to this concert soooo bad!"

Arthur toed the ground awkwardly, fiddling with his shirt cuffs. "I, uh, well, I… Erm, I…"

Paris giggled, tossing the pants on the bed.

"I am not wearing those," Arthur said adamantly, crossing his arms resolutely. "No way in bloody hell."

"But, Arthur…" Paris pouted, pushing out her lower lip. "Please?" Her eyes glistened with crocodile tears.

"No!" Arthur turned away. "I said no, I mean no, I am sticking with no!"

Paris sighed, turning away. "_Fiiiine_…be a buttmuncher, buttmunch."

"I beg your pardon!" Arthur fumed. "I refuse to be called such a derogatory title!"

"Don't get your panties in a bunch," Paris kissed his cheek, setting a pair of khakis and a dark green t-shirt on the bed beside him. "Is this acceptable, your highness?"

Arthur looked at the clothing for a long, silent moment, before nodding. "Yes, I suppose it will do…"

"I suppose," Paris mocked. "Now, go take a shower and get dressed. Hurry the hell up!" "You spend far too long hanging about with that obnoxious American," Arthur sniffed, going into the bathroom to shower.

"And your point is…?" Paris blinked, shrugging.

Francis wandered down the street to Queen Anne's Park, tugging on the sleeves of his favorite dark purple sweatshirt. He was wearing a pair of obnoxious red skinny jeans and a light sky blue t-shirt.

He spied, much to his shock, a familiar figure with darker blonde hair, wearing a pair of khakis and a dark green t-shirt.

"Arthur?"

The figure spun to face Francis, and a dark blush spread across his cheeks. He looked down, biting his lip, toeing the ground nervously. "H-hello…"

"Bonjour," Francis walked forward slowly, standing in front of Arthur. "You were the one who sent the note?"

Arthur blushed darkly, looking down. "Er…yeah… You know what, I should just go…"

"Aucune!" Francis exclaimed, pulling Arthur back forcefully. He hugged the Englishman tightly, tucking him under his chin. "Ah, mon amour, mon amour… Je t'aime, Arthur…"

"I have no idea what that means," Arthur said, blushing darkly, looking down.

In answer, Francis pulled Arthur around so they were facing. He kissed him intensely, looking Arthur directly in the eyes.

Arthur, after recovering sufficiently from his shock, kissed him back, arms winding around Francis's neck.

Francis pulled back after a long, breathless kiss, his arms wrapped tightly about Arthur's waist. "Je t'aime…means…I love you…"

Arthur blushed, looking down, mumbling something into Francis's chest.

"What was that, mon amour?" Francis gently forced Arthur to look up, kissing his forehead gently.

"…Love you…too…" Arthur blushed, ducking back into Francis's chest. "Oh, I am so embarrassed…"

"Embrassement, amour," Francis laughed.

"I don't speak French, damn f-Francis…" Arthur grumbled, poking Francis's chest.

"Yet," Francis chuckled, pulling Arthur back up into a sweet, bone-melting kiss.

_PART II: Solving Your Real Problem_

_1) Whore_

_Now that you're taken, you're no longer allowed to be a whore. Yes, I'm sure you're saying 'What? But I'm not a whore!' Know what? I don't believe you. Matter of fact, no one else does either. And I'm sure your new partner doesn't appreciate you flirting with anyone and anything that breathes._

Francis pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to Arthur's temple, leaning over the back of the couch. "Whatcha reading, mon amour?"

"_Again too Soon_, by Zero Live," Arthur said, showing him the cover. "It's actually quite good."

"Zero…Live…?" Francis questioned, unsure if he'd heard right.

"Yes," Arthur nodded, looking up at him. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing," Francis shrugged. "I've just heard the name somewhere before, is all…"

"Oh…" Arthur blinked. "Okay then," he shrugged.

"Je t'aime," Francis kissed Arthur deeply. He edged around the chair, pulling Arthur closer to him.

"Love you too…" Arthur huffed, pushing lightly at Francis's chest. "No, Francis, not now…"

"But why not?" Francis pouted, tracing Arthur's cheek.

"Because…" Arthur searched for a reason. "Because these are my good couches."

"Well, if that's the only problem," Francis smirked, picking Arthur up.

Arthur's legs wrapped unconsciously around Francis's waist unconsciously. "Hey…" he dropped his book, and it thudded gently on the wood floors. "F-Francis…"

Francis kissed Arthur's neck, nipping lightly. He nuzzled against him, and Arthur arched against him.

"D-damn it…Francis…" Arthur gasped, fisting Francis's shirt unconsciously.

_2) Fidelity_

_You gotta be faithful. Or, at the very least, if you're bored of them now, break it off honestly. Otherwise you'll just break a heart, and no one wants that._

"Arthur~!" Francis sang, pushing open the door to the study, a tea tray balanced on his hand.

"I'm over here," Arthur called, followed by a cough and a mutter that sounded suspiciously like, "Oh, bloody fucking dust!"

Francis laughed, striding over. He found Arthur kneeling amid piles of books, covered in dust. "Ah, bonjour cher! Doing some spring cleaning?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Arthur shrugged, looking up at him.

Francis smiled sweetly, "I brought you some tea, cher. Time to take a break, non?"

"Yes," Arthur stood, stretching, dusting off his hands. He coughed, sending up a cloud of dust. He blinked, then reached for the cup that Francis was holding out to him. "Thank you, Francis."

"Anytime, cher," Francis kissed Arthur's cheek. "How's it going?"

"Dusty," Arthur grumbled, sipping his tea, looking down at the piles of books. He swiped a hand across his sweaty brow, leaving a dark streak.

"Non, really?" Francis teased, ruffling Arthur's hair.

"Shut up, frog," Arthur scowled at him. "Or I'm going to make you clean your damn study yourself."

"Ai, no, no, no~!" Francis shook his head. "I could never be as good as you at cleaning, amour!"

Arthur rolled his eyes, setting the now empty cup down on the tray.

Francis tapped his lip thoughtfully, watching Arthur's derriere appreciatively. "Mon Arthur, don't forget about our date tonight!"

"As if," Arthur snorted, setting down another stack of books with a thump, sending up a cloud of dust. He coughed, waving it away irritably. "Damn dust…"

Francis laughed, blowing him a kiss. In his bedroom, he set the light gray ring box on his bedside table, running his fingers over the cover lovingly. "Je t'aime, Arthur…"

***/\~/\***

**AH-HA! It's finally done! Took me long enough, right?**

**But~ Anyway, I digress.**

**I think.**

**I don't remember…**

**What was I talking about again?**


End file.
